


Time Heals

by lornesgoldenhair



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s09e12 Hell Bent, F/M, Post-Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lornesgoldenhair/pseuds/lornesgoldenhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor turns to old friends for help with the rights wrongs and effects of the neural block but then the girl herself shows up. Post Hell Bent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Time heals, it always does. Wasn’t that what he had said to her? He couldn’t be sure. He remembered the words but not her reaction to them. Not her face, not her reply. Had he convinced her or had she sensed the lie? Time doesn’t always heal.   
She hadn’t been convinced, he concluded. If she had she’d still be here.  
Time wouldn’t have healed if they had stayed together. Time would have unwound. So they’d parted, and the universe hadn’t torn to pieces, they’d gone their separate ways. And Time didn’t need to heal after all.  
But he did. And maybe so did she.   
It didn’t seem to be working. How many times had he been through something similar? A companion gone, a period of grief, of change and then the next challenge accepted. But he was stuck, he felt stuck, just like he was stuck on earth after she had deposited him in the desert. Just like the barriers in his memory which hid her from view.  
He couldn’t stop thinking. He couldn’t remember her but he couldn’t stop trying either. Piecing together clues from the gaps in his head and pairing them with what he found in the world. Slowly, slowly, a little more revealed each day, another hint at who she was. He went about his business, regained some form of routine, but ever had one eye trained on her.  
He found her in the desert. After weeks of hitching lifts and busking. After weeks of searching. He couldn’t find his TARDIS and afterwards he wondered if it was deliberate. If she had held off reuniting him with it so that he would have time to think. So that he wouldn’t rush after her. She was Clever like that.  
And then there she was, his actual oasis, but she vanished before he even realised.  
She was the Girl in the Diner, he was certain. There were too many signs pointing to her. The moving-vanishing building, the sound of TARDIS engines all around him. How many young women had a TARDIS to their name? He was the only person to have successfully stolen one… no two… And how many human girls would have listened so long to a curious alien tale of space travel and time lords with complete acceptance? With rapt attention? With the slightest hint of sadness?  
And then of course there was her face.   
The face that matched the mural, a tribute to the dead etched onto his ship. Who else would the TARDIS allow a portrait of to be painted on her wood? Who else would she mourn with him?  
He expected the pieces to fall together then. A triumphant eureka moment so he stood and stared and waited. Surely having made the link, having seen it must be her, the neural block would crumble at the pressing memories within him and it would all rush back? He braced himself for the flood of emotion that would surely come, for the echoes of the pain he had felt trapped in his own confession dial. He knew he had mourned, grieved for eternity then, he could see himself in his memory standing before a portrait of a faceless woman. Now he imagined her face from the TARDIS door in that frame and remembered that it hurt to look at her.  
But he couldn’t remember what it felt like. And the neural block stayed put.  
He frowned and pushed his way into his ship. Took in the blackboard with its message and wondered why it looked wrong. He changed his clothing, cleaned himself up, made himself look like the Doctor again and tried to think what to do. He scanned the console room for any clues and flicked through his journals, read descriptions of their time together and looked at sketches he had made. He smiled at the stories and then held his breath hoping for something more, hoping for something he recalled rather than read but there was nothing. Just stories on the page.  
There was just nothing there.  
He made his way to the console and typed in familiar co-ordinates. He was no good at being alone, it ended badly, he knew himself well enough to seek company while he struggled with this neural block. He wanted to feel, he wanted to fix it, but he was afraid. He should go somewhere peaceful and welcoming and somewhere where someone in particular might be able to help. And then maybe later, maybe later it would all fall into place.  
Maybe Time would heal.

XXXXXXXXX

‘Where’s the boy?’  
‘For the last time Strax she’s a girl,’ Jenny hissed at him, ‘And she isn’t here.’  
‘But he usually accompanies the Doctor on this sort of social trip,’ the confused Sontarian turned slightly to question her and then rotated back to peer through the heavy glass doors to the conservatory. Beyond them the Doctor sat with his back to them while he and Madame Vastra spoke in low tones and with little animation.  
‘She does, yes…. but she couldn’t this time,’ Jenny’s voice sounded sad, ‘I got the impression from the Doctor that she can’t be with him right now, he didn’t say much.’  
‘Can’t be with him? That’s ridiculous!’  
‘Will you keep your voice down! Ma’am will hear you.’  
A frustrated huff before he began whispering dramatically. ‘I fail to see why Miss Clara can’t travel with the Doctor as usual. What could possibly be more interesting to do than time travel?’  
‘I don’t think it’s like that,’ she admonished, ‘I don’t think she just found something better to do. She’s never just leave him in the lurch.’ She frowned at the Doctor’s slumped posture. ‘Look at him, he don’t look right.’ Strax followed her line of sight but remained confused.  
‘How doesn’t he look right?’  
‘He looks… I don’t know… like part of him is missing?’  
‘Well…’ Strax started hesitantly. Jenny rounded on him, ‘What did you do?’  
‘I took the liberty of scanning the Doctor on his arrival.’  
‘What?’ Jenny raised her eyebrows.  
‘Well, he could be harbouring any sort of parasite from any part of the universe, one cannot be too careful, it is important to screen for such infections, fungal, parasitic….’  
‘He ain’t got no infection!’  
‘No as it turns out he doesn’t. But you cannot be too careful.’  
Jenny rolled her eyes. ‘So now you’ve scanned him what did you notice?’  
‘I can confirm that there is nothing missing,’ Strax said.  
‘Oh… well that’s a good thing but you really should go poking around like that its rude. We’ve spoken about this.’  
‘Yes, Miss Jenny.’  
There was a pause while they watched the Doctor continue his conversation with Vastra.  
‘So?’ Jenny prompted when it was clear there was more to be said.  
‘Something is wrong,’ Strax said quietly, ‘In his brain…I couldn’t assess properly, not enough detail but…’  
‘But what?’ Jenny glanced at him, worried.  
‘But I think he might need our help. Or Madame’s to be more specific.’

XXXXXXXXXX

He could see she was unconvinced. The Doctor passed his hands over his face and looked pleadingly at Vastra whose only initial response was to sip at her tea coolly.  
‘You’re asking too much,’ she said eventually, ‘From all that you’ve told me this is the wrong thing to do.’  
‘Vas…’  
She replaced her cup on the little table between them and held up one gloved hand for silence. ‘No, Doctor. You both agreed to the neural block when you were on Gallifrey. For you to do that things must have been very dire indeed. You saw it as your only option, to sacrifice memories, to render your pasts into stories, one doesn’t just do that and then reverse it.’  
‘Maybe I was too rash? Maybe now there’s been some time passed…’  
‘Some time? It has barely been a few weeks from what you say? Weeks? What are weeks to a Time Lord? And you think enough time has passed for you to be able to cope with the reality of your feelings for her? For that to be fresh in your hearts? No, Doctor you would be putting everything at risk again. I cannot help you undo this block.’  
‘I could go elsewhere, there are other psychics, other telepaths who could help me to do this…’  
‘And yet you come to me, why is that Doctor?’ Vastra cocked her head at him and saw his gaze drop to the ground. ‘You come to me because you need a moral compass. Any other telepath, any stranger wouldn’t care, but I do. You will continue to destroy yourself and the wider universe if you chose to continue on this path and I will not allow it.’  
‘I wouldn’t seek her out…’  
‘Wouldn’t you?’  
‘No, I already did, in the diner, I know she’s safe, she’s got a TARDIS, she’s out there somewhere… no, I just want to remember… her face, her voice, her laugh. My memories Vastra, mine, they belong to me. I will never get any more time with Clara because you’re right what we had to do was drastic, there’s no going back. But what time I did have with her, I know it was precious, I know it was beautiful and I want to be able to experience it.’  
Vastra wavered. ‘The pain will be unbearable,’ she said. ‘It’s the pain that drove you to madness on Gallifrey.’  
‘I was made to experience that pain over and over in the confession dial. I was never allowed to heal. With each cycle the wound was ripped open again. That’s what drove me mad. I can accept what has happened now, she’s alive but we can’t be together. Believe me that has to be better than her death.’  
Vastra looked down at her hands, ‘I cannot give my blessing to this.’  
‘What if it were Jenny?’ he said suddenly. Vastra’s quick eyes snapped to his. ‘What if it were Jenny, what if all those moments you spent together were lost forever, behind a wall in your mind? What if you could never see her face again even in dreams? What if you were parted and didn’t even have your memories for comfort? What then Vastra? What would you want?’  
Vastra glanced towards the glass doors where the shadow of Jenny’s dark dress was visible. ‘I couldn’t bear it,’ she said, ‘I would do what you are doing now.’  
‘You see…’  
‘But I hope my friends would keep me from making a dreadful mistake.’  
The Doctor sat back, leant tiredly on one hand and chewed on a thumbnail. ‘I thought you would understand, you of all people. Jenny is your mayfly as much as Clara was mine. You ask why I chose you to help, it’s not just because you are a ‘moral compass’ it’s because I trust you, not only to do the right thing, but with my memories, with what’s inside me. Can’t you see how hard this is? Please,’ he said, ‘This isn’t about finding her.’  
‘Not yet… but it would be if you could remember her.’  
‘How can you be so sure?’  
Vastra looked at him with stern sympathy. ‘Because Doctor I remember her, and I remember you, together and all that you were, all that you could have been. I’m surprised the universe survived this long.’

XXXXXXX

‘He still out there,’ Jenny said from the window, ‘Just sat there. It’s done it every night since he came here, all night, he never sleeps.’  
‘He’s thinking,’ a rustle from behind her as Vastra slipped under the coverlet of their bed, ‘The stars sooth him.’  
‘It’s freezing out there…’  
‘He doesn’t feel the cold the way humans do.’  
‘You don’t know what he feels,’ Jenny said quietly. There was a pause from behind her, an indication that Vastra wanted her to go on. ‘He’s been out there every night since he arrived ma’am, no one needs to do that much thinking. He’s cold and he’s lonely and he’s punishing himself. Since you told him no…’  
‘It was the right thing to do, Jenny…’  
‘Yes I know for the sake of the universe. Well what about ‘im? What about what he needs? Would it really hurt so much just to remember her face?’  
Vastra sighed. ‘Yes, I believe it would.’  
Jenny turned back to the window, pulled the curtain aside a little more to get a better view. The Doctor was sitting in the TARDIS door, his hands dangling between his knees. It was clear to her that the stars were not soothing, for his gaze was on the ground below.  
‘How can he be expected to let go of someone he only half remembers?’ she asked quietly.  
‘What?’  
‘When I was a little girl,’ Jenny started, ‘there was an old lady lived on our road and she had a right bad memory. It failed her over a course of years, little things at first like where she’d put her purse. That weren’t so bad. But eventually she forgot all those around her. She could look at the faces of her children and husband and not know them. It was so sad ma’am.’  
‘Come to bed Jenny,’ Vastra said softly.   
‘But you want to know the saddest bit?’ Jenny stood resolutely by the window. ‘It was the bit in the middle. The bit where she could almost remember. Where she could look at faces and know that she knew them but didn’t know who they belonged to. And you’d see her trying so hard, so hard ma’am to know who they were, to remember. It broke her heart, so much more than when she didn’t know them at all.’  
She turned to face her wife. ‘He ain’t down there thinking, he ain’t down there meditating under the stars, he’s down there trying to remember, and he can’t, but he knows that somewhere inside he has all of those memories, he just can’t reach them. He’s fighting every night to try and get her back and he won’t rest until he does.’  
‘I know.’  
‘So why won’t you help him?’ Jenny said a little shrilly. ‘How can you let him sit there night after night trying to see her face?’  
‘Jenny…. There is more at stake here…’  
‘No, no there isn’t, it isn’t about the universe and timelines and all those things you talk of with him that I don’t understand. It’s about two people who shouldn’t be parted like this, it’s about love that he knows existed but can’t feel. It’s wrong!’  
‘Jenny you’re upsetting yourself…’ Vastra got up and closed the gap between them.  
‘Well someone has to get upset, because you ain’t!’ she snapped.  
‘Jenny,’ she laid a hand on her arm but was shrugged away.  
‘Look at him,’ Jenny commanded pointing out the window, ‘Look at him and tell me this is right!’  
‘Jenny they chose to do this, between them, they consented, they understood it was necessary, that there was no other way.’ Vastra tried to placate her but Jenny’s eyes burned.  
‘There is always another way. If it were us we would find another way and if we couldn’t I’d hope to God someone who cared enough about us could. They didn’t have another option then, but they do now, if we help them…’  
Jenny marched towards the chair over which she’d laid Vastra’s clothes for the following morning and hoisted the heavy black dress into her arms.  
‘Get dressed,’ she said. ‘We’re going downstairs.’

XXXXXXXXX

There was snow on the ground and his eyes were drawn to each flake as it landed by his feet. The dim lights of the TARDIS interior were enough to make each crystal of ice shine as they flooded past his body casting a Doctor shaped silhouette over the sparkling courtyard. Snow… snow meant something. He tugged on his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled the smell of cold winters night. What did it mean? Snow, Clara and snow?   
He could barely feel his fingers he had sat there so long. His nightly ritual away from the distractions of daylight and the others at Paternoster. He would spent the hours until dawn trying to recall, trying to jog his memories, trying to break through the neural block. It was possible, he’d seen it done before, and he was hopeful that as it was originally only human compatible it had left most of his mind untouched. It was so precise with its extraction, cutting Clara’s face out from each picture in his memory but leaving almost everything else, the adventures they shared, the places they went to but her part was silent. As such it presented him with the ultimate in frustration, it was a double edged sword. If he simply remembered nothing he would be totally unaware. He’d probably be cruising around a planet with a new companion by now carefree and oblivious.  
But to remember nothing of Clara. Nothing of this woman whom evidence suggested he lived for utterly, that in itself would be unforgivable. And yet what memory remained made it quite clear to him that no matter how much he had loved her he had never really told her. They had never been together in that way. Was it one sided then? Was that part of the painful truth the blocker hid from him? That his adoration of her drove him mad when she didn’t return his feelings?  
No that didn’t feel right either. Something about the Cloisters on Gallifrey. Something about that conversation he could never hear. What they felt for each other was equal, but spoken of too late. If he had his time over…  
Time. A Time Lord never had enough time. It always landed too late or in the wrong order. Now he was left with a sense of his mistakes and a will to put them right, and no Clara. No time. Just this sense that she was everything and he must not forget.  
He opened his eyes again and looked at the snow willing it to spark something inside. Snow. Snow. Clara.  
Snow men?  
No, not snow men. Or maybe?  
His head ached and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his frozen digits. He could have tried to sonic the memories away on Gallifrey, a clumsy old fashioned technique of memory wipe. But no, he chose the blocker, partly at least because deep down he didn’t want to destroy the memories, just hide them. Deep down he still held onto a tiny particle of hope that one day they wouldn’t have to be apart. Now he had partial memory loss and the only way to break through the barriers in his head were psychic not manual. No sonic or equal device could undo the block, only his mind aided by a trusted other.  
And that other wasn’t willing to help.   
Well he’d just have to do it alone then. Four and a half billion years he’d been a one man show. He just had to keep chipping away at it, like the twenty foot deep wall, same drill but this time in his mind.  
The thought of it made his stomach sink.  
There was a crunch in the snow in front of him and his eye caught a glimpse of a laced boot sinking into the powder, a dark skirt swishing over the surface.  
‘Doctor,’ Jenny said, ‘Would you be able to come inside, Madame Vastra would like to see you.’ He looked up slowly.  
‘Oh?’ he said tiredly, ‘Did she say what about?’  
‘I think she may have reconsidered your request, sir…’

XXXXXXXXX

Vastra made the Doctor sit opposite her, two chairs drawn close together just in front of the fire. Their knees were touching and from where they sat their eyes were about level. On one side of the room Strax waited quietly in case his services were needed. This immediately put everyone on edge, as clearly a butler was not needed so it could only be assumed that his medical skills might be called on if the unblocking went wrong. Jenny hovered by her wife both proud of her for electing at last to help the Doctor, but nervous too.  
‘This block has been produced from very advanced technology Doctor, from an advanced species.’  
‘I know but you’ve knocked me out telepathically before… when I regenerated… you were fine… you can hold your own.’ He avoided her eye and busied himself dusting down his trousers.  
‘My capacity is somewhat limited compared to high born Gallifreyans,’ she went on, ‘You were weak then, confused and unwell with regeneration sickness. This is very different. I may not have the strength to…’  
‘It doesn’t matter,’ the Doctor reassured her edgily, ‘I’ll do most of the work, I just need you to…. ‘ he sought the right description for the telepathic moves, ‘Push me through? Add to the mix? I can get so far but then I run out of steam, the block pushes back, I need you to help me break it down. You’ll see when we start… I’ve got so close to it… I just need a little extra…’  
Vastra swallowed and bit slightly at her lip. She was not one to be anxious but the full brunt of a Time Lord’s mind was something she had never experienced and for good reason, especially in these sorts of circumstances. This was not straight forward telepathy. These were trapped memories, trapped and volatile, painful, desperate, seeking release from behind an artificial block. This was grief and love in a mind that had been tortured for billions of years. The experience would be quite different from when she sent him over to sleep and although he was her friend, although he needed this, she had the right to be afraid. She glanced at Jenny who nodded encouragingly though her own nerves were obvious. Vastra took a breath, moved to address the Doctor, caught his eye.  
‘Please,’ he said before she could raise more concerns, ‘I would do this for you.’ And she knew it to be true. She nodded, raised both hands and placed them on his temples, felt him do the same and closed her eyes.   
It was different to any telepathic experience she had had before. Vastra was drawn quickly, almost instantly into the space which represented the Doctor’s mind. For every telepath this was different. What she saw around her now was a garden, peaceful at first glance, caught during a winter sunset with fallen snow against pinkish light and the softness that snowfall gives to sound. There were borders where flowers would grow if that snow ever melted and early buds waiting on trees. It was cold but not bitter and she could see animals beneath the hedges and in the trees. Vastra began to walk down a central path, squinting into the sun, following footprints already ahead of her, and as the sun fell further she saw a wall ahead, stretched endlessly left to right, and high, so much higher than she first thought when she approached it.  
When she grew close the darkness had almost completely fallen and the air was colder. She reached out and placed cautious fingertips on the pale stone only to recoil suddenly, the freezing surface jolting her. Carefully she leaned forward again to look at the brickwork, only then realising that it was not stone but ice.  
‘Neural block,’ she muttered in the parlour of Paternoster as much as in the Doctor’s mind. ‘What now?’  
‘Now we try and break through,’ she glanced round and found him beside her, he gave her a half smile and raised his arms. ‘I’ll show you what’s been working best…’  
He had clearly been practicing, the speed at which he mustered the flames gave him away. She wondered how often he tried alone to do this, how many different ways and how often he had failed. She felt a new determination. He would never stop, she felt that, he would spend eternity in this garden if he had to. She had to help or he would be trapped forever, tormenting himself.  
She focused and Vastra could see the fire spring up at the foot of the thick ice of the neural block, burning hard, melting fast, the water beginning to pour down and threaten to dampen the flames. Instinctively Vastra raised her own arms and added what she could to blaze, the flames reaching momentarily higher and licking over the top of the wall. She felt a charge of excitement at the scene, at the hiss and crackle of their combined psychic ability. They could do this, it seemed possible.  
And then suddenly she staggered backward. She could hear the Doctor calling to her to hold on just another moment, they were almost there. But the fire she controlled was failing and in her throat she felt like drowning. The darkness closed in and the water poured harder and as it struck the ground it froze solid again. Coughing, gasping she felt herself fall, her body tipping sideways as though struck hard by an unseen force. She could hear Jenny, frantic, and Strax, their voices close by, but it was another voice that drew her in those last moment of consciousness, it’s tone pleading, desperate and lonely.  
‘Doctor! Please…. Don’t leave me here… Come back! …don’t forget me….’  
‘Clara!’ Vastra screamed.

XXXXXXXXXX

‘I’m sorry,’ Vastra said simply. She was seated now on the couch by the fire, Jenny close to her, her face pale. It had taken a number of minutes for her to come round even with Strax’s attention.  
‘It’s me who should be sorry,’ the Doctor said quietly, ‘This is exactly why Clara and I had to part. The lengths I will go to. I had no idea it was still driving me like this. I really thought I just wanted the memories, that there could be no harm in that but I never should have risked it, it was wrong of me…’  
‘You didn’t know that would happen,’ Vastra said.  
‘No,’ he admitted, ‘But I should have taken the time to analyse. I should have weighed it up. Gallifreyan neural blocks don’t mix well with other species unless they’ve been adapted. When Clara sonicked the device we don’t know fully what she did to it. It could have been fatal for you for all I knew.’  
‘I did this willingly,’ Vastra said.  
‘Not entirely,’ Jenny commented guiltily. Vastra patted her hand.  
‘Willingly after listening to sage counsel, my love,’ she stated.  
‘What will happen now?’ Strax queried from the corner of the room. The Doctor stared into the fire wearily.  
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, ‘Perhaps this demonstrates to me I should leave the whole thing well alone. That the danger really is there and it really is great. It may not end up destroying all of time itself but it could end up hurting my friends…. And Clara would never want that….’  
‘I heard her voice,’ Vastra said, ‘near the end.’  
The Doctor looked at her curiously, ‘Her voice, in my mind?’  
‘Yes,’  
‘I can’t remember her voice at will… The memories must have been about to break through,’ he said, ‘We were almost there,’ he smiled sadly. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing now… What did she say?’  
Vastra hesitated, torn between telling the truth and protecting the Doctor from further heartache. She watched as the hopeful light danced in his eyes and he hung on her words.  
‘I… don’t recall exactly….’ She said, ‘It was muffled, I was fading…. But it was her.’  
She watched him press his lips together. ‘It’s late, ‘ he said, ‘You all need to rest… and I have thinking to do. Thank you for…’  
The TARDIS cloister bell rang out suddenly across the courtyard and with it each foundation shuddered. The Doctor was up and out of the door followed by the women and Strax; the Sontarian bursting out into the night and sliding to a halt by the time machine, braced for any action required.  
‘What is it?!’ Jenny yelped, her hands over her ears to try to muffle the ringing.  
‘The TARDIS, she’s trying to warn us of something…’ he darted to the blue doors as though to make inside and investigate but at that moment a howling tearing sound shot over their heads in a stream of brilliant colour and fire. Embers and flaming debris rained down over the little group and they were forced to shield their eyes from the intense light and heat. Whatever was above them was closing in fast, it took less than seconds to reach ground level and with a crushing noise slammed hard into the stables shattering glass and metal everywhere. The fire burned hotly around the base of the enormous object and splintering noises could be heard from within.  
‘What on earth is that?’ Jenny asked urgently, her eyes wide.   
‘Perhaps it’s a ship?’ Strax suggested, ‘There could be casualties!’ and he scuttled forward to investigate.  
‘Careful Strax, we don’t know what’s going on…. Doctor?’ Vastra looked towards him for guidance but was struck by his posture, leaning half up against the TARDIS door, grasping onto the side with one hand, his face drained of all colour. ‘Doctor!’ she insisted, ‘What is that thing?’  
He was frozen to the spot, the flames bright in his eyes. ‘It’s a diner,’ he said flatly, ‘A futuristic restaurant,’ he waved his hand, stumbling to describe it inadequately, ‘It serves lemonade… I’ve seen it before…we… Oh God...’   
‘What?’  
‘It’s hers…..’ he fell quiet.  
‘Whose?’ Jenny asked, but Vastra caught her eye and gave a sharp shake of the head to silence her. Jenny’s eyes widened further.  
‘Clara? You mean that thing is a time machine like the Doctor’s? ’ she asked and Vastra nodded. Jenny’s horrified gaze turned back to the wrecked and burning building now lodged in the structure of their coachhouse.  
‘A little help here!’ Strax called from the burning TARDIS, ‘There’s someone on board!’

 


	2. Chapter 2

2\.   
The Girl from the Diner was taken to the same room the Doctor had been given shortly after he had crash landed in London all that time ago. Pulled from the wreckage of the American Diner, she was carried by the stout Sontarian straight up the stairs to the comfortable bedroom without pause or struggle. He had found no other survivors on board and the ship had appeared too unstable to venture too far beyond the console room. After depositing his load he suggested diving back into the fire but was quickly held back by Madame Vastra when she noted that even his tougher skin had blistered from the heat where it had been exposed.  
The group focused itself on the girl while the Doctor brought the flames outside under control with the help of the TARDIS. His head was spinning and he grasped at the practical mission to try and steady himself before facing the gravity of what he knew would be happening upstairs. In the meantime the women stripped the survivor of her burnt clothing and with Strax’s help began to try and sooth the injuries she had sustained in the crash. She was unconscious and badly injured, the burns covering the best part of her torso and left leg, and edging up her neck to her right cheek. They had little advanced medicine to hand so they soaked cloths in Sonatrian balms, dressed her best they could in bandages and laid her peacefully in the bed.  
He had hovered outside the room for a spell before plucking up the courage to knock, afraid of what he might find, afraid that she might regain consciousness before he quite knew how to respond; afraid of himself for being afraid she might wake. How he wanted her to wake, how he wanted her to be safe, but the thought of that first conversation tied his stomach in knots. Seeing his anxiety Vastra had encouraged him inside and placed a chair near the cabinet on which the balms and soaks were scattered. At her touch he felt her trying to calm him psychically and was grateful.  
Now the Doctor sat by the bedside studying the Girl’s face. He recalled it as the one painted on the side of the TARDIS and as belonging to the Girl he had met in the Diner before, but beyond that he could find no association with the woman in front of him. He took in her profile, her closed eyes and dark lashes, her delicate pink lips. He noted how the burns had marked her cheek and neck and where Strax had applied a smooth honey balm to the rawest areas. He tried desperately to see in her features something that would spark recognition of its own accord; buthe couldn’t.  
The Doctor sat in the chair by the bed and watched the motionless form of the young woman in front of him and felt nothing tug at his memories. It filled him with sadness and with the strange doubt that it was really her. How could it be her and he could feel nothing?  
But this was Clara. The others confirmed it with worried looks and hushed voices. They fretted over her injuries as they worked to try and help her. He saw Jenny tearfully try to fix her hair, singed at the ends and smelling of fire. He saw Vastra lay a gentle hand on her forehead trying to read the depth of her coma.  
The Girl that was Clara lay perfectly still and eerily suspended in time. She did not breathe and her heart did not beat and Vastra could read nothing from her mind. As such Strax confessed that he had no idea how to help her with the medicine he knew, indeed he could not be certain she lived. He had few vital signs to scan and if it had not been for her steady temperature he could have been convinced she was dead.  
Dead. Ironically really. She lived so close to it.  
But the Doctor knew, he knew somehow she would live. She could not die, except for that moment on Trap Street where her death was fixed in place. The knowledge gave him little comfort however, because she could still be injured. She could still be unconscious, she could still suffer so much damage that without help this could be it. Technically alive, but in a coma, neither healing nor deteriorating as a living person might. She could remain unconscious and if she could not be woken he could have no choice but to return her to Trap Street to complete the circle.  
The thought horrified him. The thought of going back to Gallifrey with her lifeless body in his arms only to slot her back into Time and close the loop. And all that still without his memories.  
He looked over her body, calculated the extent of the bandaging and the severity of the burns. He wasn’t sure how it worked or what her capacity for healing was while she was in stasis, but he sensed she was up against it here. She needed help. The kind of help that only he as a Time Lord could give. It was his gift, he had used it before on people he had loved, but it was never to be taken lightly. It would drain him of so much he might need himself one day.  
Did this woman deserve it? On so many levels he didn’t know her; but he was sure he loved her, behind the wall in his mind.  
He loved Clara, didn’t he?  
He frowned and hesitantly took one of her hands in his, passing his thumb softly over her knuckles. He could read nothing in her mind, so deep was the coma. He tried to piece together her story. The Doctor had gone to the ends of the universe for the woman in front of him now. He knew he had nearly destroyed it in her name. He knew he had remained in his confession dial for just a chance he might be able to save her. He knew logically that he had loved her more than life.  
But he couldn’t remember and he couldn’t feel it now. He only had her story to go on and the distress the Paternoster residents felt as they so gently tended to her wounds. It was clear to them she was worthy of a great deal of love and concern and that swung the balance for him.  
He trusted his friends, and his own actions in the past spoke clearly of his utter dedication to Clara.  
So he would do this. He would give this gift that he had given to so few in the past, the last being his wife, River, but this would be a larger gift and draw on his reserves more than any other had before. He wasn’t sure quite what that would mean for him, but somewhere behind the walls in his mind he felt his memories championing his decision. He would risk anything for her, always.  
He lent forward, closer to the bed. ‘This won’t hurt a bit,’ he said quietly and closed his eyes.   
He focused on the feel of her fingers, on the softness of her skin, and the golden light began to gently glow where their hands met. The Doctor frowned slightly, trying to guide the healing force to where the worst burns were.  
‘Take what you need,’ he said. ‘I think you’re owed. It feels like you’re owed, by me.’

XXXXXXXXX

The woman called Clara remained as lifeless overnight as she had been on her arrival and come morning the Doctor had left her bedside to investigate the rather charred remains of her TARDIS. He and Strax made their way across the snowy courtyard after breakfast and ran some preliminary scans.  
‘No life forms detected, sir,’ Strax elucidated.  
‘No-one?’  
‘No-one, sir.’  
‘Any organic matter that might indicate a casualty?’ the Doctor asked. Strax reprogrammed his scanner with a grimace and ran it over the ship.   
‘No, sir,’ he said.  
‘I wonder what happened,’ the Doctor pondered. ‘TARDISes don’t just fall out the sky, they don’t just burst into flames…’  
‘I would be happy to investigate further, sir…’  
‘No offense but this is Gallifreyan technology, Strax, on a good day even I only understand half of it…’  
‘Doctor!’ they were interrupted by Jenny’s voice calling from the kitchens. He looked round to find her leaning out of the door and waving, her smile nearly splitting her face into two. ‘She’s awake, sir, I don’t know what you did but its worked and she’s awake! Ma’am is with her now. Come in, come in…’  
His guts churned. Clara would know him, know and remember, but he was still unsure how to play his part. Did he tell her he knew who she was or play dumb? After the incident with Vastra in his subconscious he had doubts as to whether he should try to retrieve his memories or make any connection with the woman called Clara at all. She was technically still a stranger and that might be the only thing protecting both of them. Maybe the only thing protecting the universe if the stories were to be believed.   
He looked down at the sonic screwdriver he had been using to scan her TARDIS, and thought of the words he found printed on his chalkboard. ‘Be a Doctor,’ they had said. Try to be a good man, try to do the right thing. He passed a hand wearily over his face. What was the right thing here?   
‘Come on,’ Jenny encouraged, ‘Come and see for yourself, sir!’  
Still undecided he pocketed the screwdriver and crunched through the snow to the house.

XXXXXXXX

‘How much does he know?’ Clara asked softly as she pulled herself into a sitting position in the bed.  
‘He knows you’re Clara,’ Vastra said from the window where she was watching the Doctor’s journey across the courtyard towards them. ‘He know you’re the Girl in the Diner and therefore you have to be Clara, but he can’t remember you. All he has is the knowledge of your existence, your role if you like in the stories you acted out together. The emotions and the details of your personal shared memories are trapped behind the neural block.’  
‘And he tried to force that down? Break the block?’ Clara asked.   
‘He said he wanted to remember you, that he had a right to,’ Vastra said letting the curtain fall closed again. ‘He swore that he was not trying to find you; that he just needed to remember, that he couldn’t bear the gap in his head where you had been.’  
Clara adjusted her position again, the skin under her dressings itching horribly. ‘And you agreed to help?’ she asked incredulously, ‘We nearly made time unravel and you agreed to help him remember all of that again? We didn’t do this casually, you should have respected that, thought of the consequences.’  
‘I declined to help at first; then I saw it with his eyes,’ Vastra admitted, ‘But Clara you must understand, he would never have stopped trying, never. Just like his confession dial. This is just another version of his loyalty to you. He would keep going and going, probably destroying everything in his path intentionally or not, just so he could remember you. It would drive him mad I’m sure of it. The block hides his memories from view but they are still there Clara. He still loves you just the same and it is that love that is dangerous if left trapped inside. It was only a matter of time before you were both confronted with it again. Look at this now. What are the chances of you crash landing here, now, when he is here. You both travel all of time and space and yet here you are arriving just hours apart. You’re in his time stream; you are Fated, Clara, always.’  
‘So what am I supposed to do?’ Clara asked, tired and exasperated, ‘If we’re Fated, but bad for one another, how are we supposed to deal with it?’  
There was a creak on the stairs beyond the door and Vastra turned her head towards it slightly.  
‘You’ll find a way,’ she said, ‘One that only you and he will recognise. Come in Jenny.’  
The door pushed open and Jenny appeared with the Doctor in her wake. He seemed less imposing than usual, his face pale against the dark material of his jacket and the black of his jumper. He looked exhausted and anxious and was doing a bad job of hiding it.  
‘We’ll leave you alone for a while,’ Vastra said ushering Jenny out of the door, ‘Please, ring the bell if you need us.’  
The Doctor crossed to Clara’s bedside and hovered nervously.  
‘Sit down Doctor,’ Clara said, ‘you’re putting me on edge.’  
‘Right, sorry…’ he sat quickly, still on the edge of the chair and fiddled with the long cuffs of his sweater, pulled them over his hands. It was a familiar old gesture to Clara and one she associated with the times he felt most socially awkward. On instinct she covered his hands with hers and let them rest in his lap. He peered down at them owlishly and she saw him swallow hard half expecting him to disentangle himself from the physical contact he rarely tolerated from people. The Doctor however held fast to her, whether by instinct or consciously she couldn’t tell.  
‘I’m going to cut to the chase here,’ Clara said. ‘What do you know?’  
He looked baffled for a moment and then began burbling. ‘Well I know lots of things, physics mainly, mathematics… I’m not so hot on the social niceties but I’ve read a good bit of….’  
‘About me, right now,’ Clara clarified, ‘What do you know about what’s going on now?’  
‘Ah,’ he said uncertainly, ‘That…’  
There was a pause while he tried to avoid eye contact and Clara tried to will him to speak.  
‘I know you’re Clara,’ he said at last studying their hands. ‘I knew you had to be when your TARDIS dematerialised around me that day in the desert.’  
‘Bit of a give away?’ she asked. ‘Big space ship.’  
‘Not very subtle no. And then there was a portrait of you, on my TARDIS.’  
‘Yes, I remember. We went to retrieve it for you.’  
‘Yes…’ he hesitated again. ‘So I knew it was you in the Diner and then the Diner, well, crashed.’  
‘Yes,’ Clara sighed, ‘It did rather.’  
‘Why did it crash?’ he asked with a glimmer of his old curiosity.  
‘Not sure. I’m not too good with TARDISes yet, sort of learning on the go. Ashildr didn’t last long with the time travelling before she found somewhere fun to explore. I got itchy feet and left her there. She has my number.’  
‘Ah…’  
‘Anyway that doesn’t matter,’ she said trying to refocus him. You know that I’m Clara. What else?’  
‘I know we chose to do the neural block together, and I know why. I know there were very good, very significant reasons for that.’  
‘And?’  
‘And… and we should respect that,’ he said uncertainly, convincing neither himself nor his audience, but trying so hard to be strong. Clara’s expression altered just a little, the muscles of her face just a little sadder than before. Slowly she withdrew her hands and watched as the Doctor bundled his fingers under his cuffs once again. There was a painful pause.  
‘You don’t remember anything else, about… us, me?’ she asked.  
‘No, nothing. I mean… I don’t feel like I’ve just met you, but I don’t know you either. I know your face, but that’s from the Diner, and the portrait, but I feel like I’ve never heard your laugh, because I haven’t since...’ he gestured at his head and made a spinning motion. He smiled shyly. ‘Since my reset,’ he finished.  
Clara bit her lip. ‘You’ve no idea how… strange this is,’ she said. ‘You’re my best friend…’ she fiddled with the bandages on her left arm distractedly. ‘How can you be my best friend and not know me?’  
For a moment his lips twitched into a painfully small smile. ‘That can happen, happens all the time if you’re a Time Lord,’ The Doctor swallowed again. ‘And it’s not from choice,’ he said. ‘I… I was trying to remember, before you crashed here, I was trying to get Vastra to help me. I wanted to remember, all of it. Even if it hurts, and I know it will, it’ll really hurt; and I know we made a decision for the right reasons, and I know we shouldn’t but…’ he trailed off and tried to steady himself his thoughts and emotions coming thick and fast and knocking him off course. He bit his thumb to stop the flow.  
‘It must be hard, for both of us,’ Clara looked at him sympathetically. ‘Hard to understand, hard to know what’s best, hard to know what to do next, especially when there’s no-one to talk to. You don’t do well on your own, Doctor. Are you still on your own?’  
He nodded, avoiding her eyes. He glanced at the door and Clara could detect the increase in his anxiety just from his posture. He wanted to run. In truth she didn’t blame him.  
Clara looked down at her bandages again for a distraction. ‘These are driving me mad,’ she complained. ‘What did Strax coat them with for goodness sake, it feels like there are ants crawling about in there.’  
‘It wasn’t Strax’s doing,’ the Doctor said, ‘And you can probably remove them now, they will have done their work.’  
‘So soon?’  
‘Yeah,’ he nodded. The Doctor pushed himself upright and moved as though to head for the door. ‘They had a little help,’ he explained. ‘I wasn’t sure what your healing capacity was now, I don’t know how things work when you’re in suspended animation. You might have just been stuck like that, injured, forever. So I…’ he stopped. ‘Well anyway you’re looking a lot better and you’re awake.’ He smiled softly. ‘That’s the main thing. Clara, I’m sorry, but I…’  
‘You need a breather,’ she said, ‘It’s OK. If I’m honest so do I.’  
‘How do you know that?’ he asked genuinely bemused.  
‘Because I know you. I know it doesn’t feel like that but I do.’ Clara managed to hold his eye for a moment. ‘You made yourself essential to me,’ she said, ‘You were my world, no one knew you better than I did.’  
He hesitated. ‘I… felt the same way about you?’ he said.  
Clara smiled sadly, ‘I know you did, we both felt exactly the same way. We just left it too long to tell one another. The Cloisters… you still don’t remember them?’  
‘No,’ he fiddled with his sleeves again, skittish and vulnerable.  
‘You ok?’  
A short nod from the Doctor seemed to be all he could manage. ‘I um… I’m going to have a quick look at your TARDIS, see if I can’t fix it for you while you recover,’ he said, gesturing vaguely back at the door. It looked like he was asking permission of her.  
Clara made to protest lightly, opening her mouth to somehow persuade him to have a difficult emotional conversation without hiding behind his usual TARDIS repairs, but she could see his struggle and both of them knew he needed space. She closed her mouth, and gave him a small smile. The Doctor stepped quickly through the door and was gone.   
Clara rested back against the headboard of the old bed and continued to work on the bandage which had been bothering her so much, expecting scabs or blisters, but her eyes widened as she revealed what lay beneath. The material came away easily, without pain, and there was no sign of the Sontarian balm which had been applied to her burns.   
There was no sign of the burns either.   
Just the faintest wisp of trapped regeneration energy leaving her skin.

XXXXXXXXXXX  
There was something very reassuring about lying under the central console of a TARDIS. Obviously he had spent the equivalent of decades lying under his own but any TARDIS would do in a storm and right now his mind felt stormy. The Doctor pulled himself deeper under the charred navigation panel and sonicked some offending wires. He could feel the strange sensation of someone else’s TARDIS checking him for credentials. The ship lingered at the corner of his mind watching over what he was doing with a little misgiving but no hostility. It was Clara’s ship and its allegiance was with her but it was willing to admit the Doctor’s knowledge of repairs was greater than her own captain’s.   
Some things TARDISes can’t do alone even if they do have auto-repair systems. Doubly unfortunately for this TARDIS her autorepair system was why she had been in the Gallifrey workshops in the first place. She was busted before they took her and although she’d done her best to patch things over it had eventually failed and she’d caught on fire. The doctor could feel a hint of shame in her consciousness. It had all been very undignified. Fire. So basic.  
‘Never mind old girl,’ he said, ‘I’m appreciating basic right now. Nice and easy for me to fix and then you can be on your way…’  
He stopped. On their way. Clara and her TARDIS. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it. He wasn’t sure that’s what was going to happen or if it was for the best. He was sure he was spending his days stringing out basic repairs and running extra checks so that he had more thinking time in his safe spot under the console. Right now being in the house with the curious eyes of the Paternoster gang on him downstairs, and the large brown eyes of the woman called Clara upstairs was too much to bear. Everyone wanted answers somehow and everyone looked to him.  
He was avoiding her. Clara. He knew, she knew it, the TARDISes knew it. They were caught in a push me pull you situation where both knew there was so much that could be said and both were too frightened to start. It didn’t come as any surprise to him when Clara made the first move, not because he knew her to be forthright, he couldn’t remember, but because he knew himself to be a coward.  
‘I brought you some lemonade,’ she said from above him and he nearly cracked his head open on the console. For a moment he lay there wondering if he could face any more conversation. ‘You’ve been in here all day, it’s late, you missed dinner and everyone’s in bed,’ her voice continued, ‘It’s been a long time since I got thirsty but I thought maybe you’d like a drink…’  
He pushed himself out from his hiding place and lay on his back looking up at Clara. ‘Is that from out there…in the wotsit?’ he queried vaguely.  
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘The Diner is fixed, think she’s been clearing it up while you’ve been doing the more technical bits. A combined effort.’  
‘That’s very helpful of her.’  
‘Yeah, she’s not like yours, doesn’t throw strops. I think it’s because I’m a girl, I know how to handle her moods…’ Clara pulled up a jumpseat and perched on top, her short legs dangling. She really was very small. The Doctor scrabbled to his feet and edged towards her to take the drink, inspected it curiously, and took a sip through the curly straw Clara had picked for him. He liked curly straws, liked to watch the liquid whizz through. Clara must know that about him, because she knew everything. That was still an odd feeling.  
It made him nervous that he couldn’t say the same for his knowledge of her. It also made him sad. He could feel inside of him that he used to know more, that he used to make a point of remembering her likes and dislikes. That he strived to understand her and now all that hard work was inaccessible.  
‘So how’s it going?’ Clara asked. Was that a hint of her own anxiety he detected in her voice? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t know well enough what her voice sounded like normally.  
He swallowed. ‘Nearly done, just a few tweaks, but most of its complete.’  
She nodded vaguely and looked around the room where patches were still rather charred. ‘I’m thinking of redecorating,’ she said, ‘Might as well. Any tips?’  
‘Well the classic white is always a good option, and there do have to be roundels… but I’m rather into the steampunk look lately.’  
‘You’re just an old rocker, as long as you have somewhere to plug in your amp,’ she laughed and the sound trickled towards his hearts, ‘I’m thinking something more feminine.’  
‘Not scatter cushions,’ he said quickly, pointing at her. Clara looked at him curiously.  
‘How do you know I like scatter cushions?’  
‘I don’t… I mean… you’re a human female, origin late 20th century, isn’t it compulsory?’ He smiled and felt suddenly warm when she smiled back, felt an almost confidence in himself leak from somewhere behind the wall in his mind. He was sure she found him funny, more so than most people, and he was sure he had loved to make her laugh. The feeling was familiar and comforting, but when Clara continued to look at him with curiosity he became awkward and edged back to the safety of the console.  
‘I thought I might stick about a few more days,’ she was saying, ‘Been ages since I saw Vastra and Jenny and it’d be rude to get myself fixed up and then dash off again.’  
The Doctor said nothing but nodded instead, fiddled with a button that did nothing on the control panel. It seemed Clara knew that trick too.  
‘Doctor, we need to sort this out,’ she said. ‘We weren’t supposed to run into one another again but we have. It changes things. We need to decide what’s next.’  
‘I don’t know.’  
‘What are the options?’  
‘Go our separate ways again,’ he said quietly.  
Clara slipped off the chair to pace and stand in front of him.  
‘You don’t want that,’ she said.  
‘That’s beside the point. This isn’t about what we want.’  
Clara suddenly took one of his hands again and he felt a ripple of emotion come from her skin. He shut his eyes.   
‘In an ideal world,’ she was saying, ‘What would you have us do?’  
‘You know…’ he said painfully.  
‘Say it for me.’  
He opened his eyes again and gazed tormented at the ceiling. ‘I’d want to remember you, and I’d want us to be as we used to be, whatever that was.’  
‘As we used to be didn’t work,’ Clara said bluntly.  
‘Well there you have it then,’ he protested, ruffling his hair to try to hide the hurt he felt at that comment, ‘not possible, theoretical questioning not needed, option one still remains the only way.’  
Clara held fast to his hand.   
‘What if you could remember me and we could be… something different. Something better? What if we could fix what went wrong between us, what lead us to do such reckless things? What if we changed our whole mission statement so we could be together?’  
He dared to look up at her then and was immediately struck by how bright her eyes were in the brilliant white of her console room. An image flashed through his head of her standing in just the same position, the same bright eyes and a look of fear. He blinked it away; it wasn’t fear this time, it was hope.  
‘Clara…’ he started.  
‘I miss you,’ Clara said abruptly, ‘I never wanted you to forget. I never wanted all that we were to be wiped out. It’s not right, it didn’t feel right then. I wanted to make us work somehow but we were in such a jam and there was so much pressure and so little time. Everything felt ruined and desperate and… we had no choice. Now we have a choice. Now we have time, so much time Doctor.’  
He kept his eyes averted. It was bad enough to feel the rush of warmth from their hands without also looking into her eyes. They were like nothing he’d ever seen before, it was like they inflated. How did they do that? If he looked at them he was lost.  
‘You’re talking about second chances,’ he said lowly, ‘We don’t get those.’  
‘We did before. We can again. We can make this into a second chance, or a third or a fourth, if we want it badly enough, we’re practically immortal. There’s room for another chance.’  
He passed a hand over his face and felt the low thud of a headache begin. ‘How can I judge, Clara, when I can’t remember? How can I judge what to do for the best when all I know is that at some point I truly thought wiping our memories was the only thing to do.’  
Clara squeezed his hand and a stronger trickle of imagery came from her contact. This time she was in the white room leaning over him with tears streaking down her face.  
And a smile. Oh that smile.  
His breath caught in his throat at the memory of it. He’d promised hadn’t he, promised he’d remember, and he’d failed. ‘Gods…’ he breathed and felt his eyes sting. Clara looked at him sadly and he knew she was remembering that moment, the echo of its image in her touch.  
‘Trust me,’ she said, ‘Trust me. I know being alone and losing your memories has hurt you. But being alone and remembering has been just as bad.’ The Doctor’s throat felt constricted and he felt his chest heave as he struggled to subdue the emotion that threatened to spill over.  
‘Clara, we can’t, the Time Lords will come after you, you have to keep running.’  
‘We can run together,’ she said, ‘And anyway they were mad at you too for long enough, you always gave them the slip. You said when we were stealing this ship, you said Time always heals, that if we just kept running we would be OK.’  
‘I went too far. I was wrong, I was desperate, frightened.’  
‘No!’ Clara admonished, ‘No. Don’t say it like that. You told me if I was ever cruel or cowardly, to make amends. Well we can make amends for this too. You went too far, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can never forgive yourself. Make peace with it, Doctor.’  
She sounded so convinced and hopeful. He fought with himself not to be swept along only to find he was wishing he could be exactly that. Swept up in a tidal wave of Clara. Wasn’t that how it had all started anyway?  
‘I don’ t know how to remember,’ he said desperately, ‘Even if this is possible, even if we can keep running, even if Time heals over Trap Street and the paradox doesn’t wreck the timelines, I don’t know how to break the wall. I don’t know, Clara.’  
‘I have an idea,’ Clara said reaching up for his cheek and brushing away an errant tear he’d failed to realise had fallen. ‘I think I know how.’  
‘How?’  
‘Like this,’ she said stroking his cheek. In his mind he saw her in the console room of his own TARDIS, looking up at the rotor and smiling, ‘we use telepathy,’ she suggested.  
‘Vastra and I tried, it only put her in danger, I was reckless again I might have hurt her it’s, it’s… impossible.’  
Clara forced him to look her in the eye. ‘And what did you always call me?’ she asked coaxingly, kindly. ‘I’m your…’  
‘Impossible Girl,’ he breathed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

3.  
‘Come on,’ she led him across the snowy courtyard by one hand, a stream of consciousness making the most of the skin to skin contact and forming images in his mind of their combined past. Just scraps at first, flashes of insight and then when he felt her squeeze his fingers, a brighter more informative sketch of their shared experiences.  
They reached the parlour where the evening fire was burning and she gestured for him to sit while she knelt by the hearth and poked the embers with an iron. He felt the lack of contact with her skin keenly as she stacked logs and sprinkled coal into the grate. After a moment she turned back to him, the flames reflecting in her eyes as she shuffled a little closer on the mat. The Doctor looked down at his hands, nested in his lap and avoided her gaze until she took them again and rested her chin on them. He couldn’t help but smile at her expression, her huge eyes adoring him from his knee.  
‘You ok up there?’ she asked.  
‘I think so? Don’t I look ok?’  
‘You look nervous.’  
He cleared his throat, ‘I have reason to be, there’s a short round human stranger kneeling at my feet about to suggest something that could well be dangerous. So... what’s your idea?’  
Clara shook her head with a smile and raised her chin from the back of their hands. She sat back on her heels.  
‘Tell me what the neural block feels like,’ she started.  
‘Like a wall,’ he replied, ‘A wall of ice. In my mind that’s how it manifests. Somewhere behind it are my memories of you.’  
‘Vastra tried to help you break it down…?’  
‘Melt it.’  
Clara looked thoughtful. ‘So you’re doing some type of telepathy on one side of the wall with Vastra and the memories are on the other.’  
‘You’re on the other side, Vastra said she heard you, or a version of you.’  
‘That’s a bit creepy,’ Clara commented, ‘But on the other hand there have been quite a few versions of me over the years and some still to come no doubt. Echoes get everywhere, maybe even inside your head, who knows.’  
‘Clara...’ she hushed him before he could begin.  
‘What if…’ she said, ‘What if you were trying to melt it from one side and I was trying from the other?’  
‘I don’t follow?’ he said.  
‘If Vastra said she could hear me on the other side. What if I could somehow manifest there and we tried to break down the neural block together.’  
‘Clara you aren’t telepathic and you don’t have those kind of skills.’  
‘No…’ she pondered, ‘But I have the same memories you do, and it is me on the other side an echo me, or a memory me, some form of me. Maybe if I thought about things hard enough, maybe it would break down the wall a little from the other side. I could reach out to what you remember.’  
The Doctor sighed, ‘I don’t know. Maybe it would give me a clear focus? You think of a specific memory, I try my hardest to reach that one aim rather than just trying to break down the whole wall at once?’  
‘It’s worth a try isn’t it?’ Clara said. ‘And touch telepathy, that would create an initial connection, if we held hands or… something.’  
The Doctor flicked his eyes up to her and bit his lip. ‘Or something?’ he asked. He was acutely aware of the speed of his hearts. Clara sat in front of him on the rug, the fire behind her and its warmth highlighting her hair, her eyes. She ran her hands over his, up the length of his forearms and back down again and looked at him hopefully.  
‘You were never much of a hugger but towards the end of things you were getting quite comfortable with it,’ she said, her voice oddly hushed.  
‘I’m not good with personal space,’ he said, conscious that his hearts were hammering now for no clear reason. Clara smiled with her eyes and a set of dimples appeared in her cheeks.  
‘You didn’t used to mind me,’ she assured.  
The Doctor let out a nervous laugh. ‘I believe you, I would just like to feel it, right now you’re almost a stranger and you’re making me twitchy.’  
Her giggle tickled him and she pulled herself up onto the couch beside him.  
‘It’ll be fine, you’ll see. So what do you think?’ she asked, ‘Want to poke about in each other’s heads a bit, see what we can find?’  
‘Can we try for a good memory please?’ he asked, ‘It feels like every time I’ve thought of you its felt… sad somehow.’  
Clara nodded, shuffled closer to him, ‘Good memory, got it, let me think…’ The Doctor looked pointedly at the fire while his companion thought, but he couldn’t help but feel her hand take his, persistently, assuredly.   
Clara rubbed her thumb over his knuckles and the images from her mind spread into his as she decided what to go for, for that one important memory. Some were mundane, the pair of them in an unspecified alien market, in a meadow, on a beach; others more powerful and involving being chased by various creatures. There was one that involved cybermen and Missy, another that involved the group known as the Myre; a picture of Clara standing in the farmyard of the Viking settlement, the sun in her eyes. He was translating something, the words of a baby, at her request, awkwardly and somewhat reticent and all the while she watched him proudly, encouraging him not to give up.  
She had looked at him and felt love.  
Suddenly it was washing over him so strongly he could hardly breathe, the pure feeling coming from her knocked the air from his lungs. The Doctor shut his eyes while her grip tightened on his hand and the picture expanded. More of the farmyard could be seen. The warmth of the evening became almost palpable and he felt a soft breeze on his face. He could hear the baby, its cry echoing slightly; but it was nothing compared to what he was feeling from her.  
His hearts thundering he gripped with his free hand onto the couch and took a deep steadying breath. If he had wondered why he might have chosen to wipe his memory he now knew. Clara’s emotions were somehow triggering faint shadows of his own and even those, half formed and faded had the power to bring tears to his eyes.  
Gods how he had loved her. He had never felt anything like it. Without her he would be nothing. He watched as he saw himself finish the translation and felt the pride grow in Clara’s memory, saw her drink in his face, the colour of his eyes, each feature bright and highlighted by her recollection.   
‘I always remember you like that,’ she said quietly beside him, ‘The reluctant hero who can’t help but follow his hearts. You’d protest all the time and then do something amazing…’  
The Doctor pressed his lips together hard and kept his eyes shut, let the scene shift just slightly.  
‘Something amazing…’ she said again.  
Clara was crushed in his arms, spinning through the air as he lifted her, stunned at the clear portrayal of his feelings.   
‘This memory is right up there,’ Clara said next to him, ‘It was so un-you. You’d been doing a lot of stuff like that then. Initiating hugs, being complimentary…’ she laughed and he felt his own lips twitch into a smile. ‘Looking back it was obvious what we should have done next, but we didn’t and I think that’s where we went wrong.’  
She paused and he could feel her forming a vivid screenshot of their embrace in her mind to focus on.   
‘Never be cruel or cowardly,’ she said again and the Doctor opened his eyes to look at her. ‘We were cowards when it came to each other. Time to make amends?’  
‘Yes,’ he said anxiously. Clara stroked over his curls with one hand, let her fingers tickle at his ear. The sensation was oddly familiar and laced with traces of their telepathic link. He felt himself blush, and caught her smile; watched her sidle up closer to him with a giggle.  
‘So…’ she said expectantly.  
The Doctor lifted both his hands to her face and gently touched her temples. The initial link would have to be made in that way but after that he would revert to holding hands. As it was Clara leaned into his touch and placed her own hands on his cheeks. She felt warm, her higher human temperature so different from his cool skin. He could smell something a little like fresh apples from her hair, and something else from her skin that couldn’t be defined. It calmed him somehow.  
‘I’m going to open a link,’ he said, ‘It may take you a bit to orientate yourself. You should find yourself in a…’  
‘Garden…’ she said quickly. ‘A winter garden.’  
‘That was fast.’  
‘Face it I’m a great student as well as an excellent teacher.’  
He smiled and focused his own mind.  
The winter garden appeared around him much as it had before, peaceful and somewhat chill but not uncomfortable. At the end of the long path he could see the wall that represented the neural block, as solid as ever, but there was no sign of Clara. Perhaps she had managed as she intended to arrive on the other side already. He began to make his way towards his goal, his feet crunching beneath him in the snow. When he was a few feet away from the wall he paused on the parlour couch and dropped his hands to take Clara’s in the space between them.  
‘Ok,’ the Doctor said, ‘We need to keep hold of one another, squeeze my hands, good. I’m going to communicate entirely telepathically, you’ll hear my voice, it should guide you so that we are on opposite sides of the wall but directly across from each other too. From there we can try and focus on the memory.’  
‘The spinning hug,’ Clara said clearly.  
‘The spinning hug,’ he agreed.   
The Doctor retreated into the world of his telepathic abilities and allowed his only awareness of Clara to be that of her presence in the Garden, and the touch of her skin. He immediately got a hint as to where she was and was relieved to discover she was indeed on the other side of the wall alongside all her memories. He began to make his way down it to the spot opposite her.  
Clara’s hands tightened on his and he could feel her waiting. In the garden he smoothed the rough face of the ice with one hands, stroking away white frost and revealing the wall beneath, solid but transparent. He could feel her nearby, her thoughts becoming his and bouncing back again. It was an odd sensation unfamiliar even to him as a telepath, so hard to figure out where his thoughts ended and hers began.  
Think of the memory.  
Think of the memory.  
Think of the…  
The Doctor’s eyes were attracted by movement, a flash of colour on the other side of the wall.  
Clara?  
Clara?  
A face behind the ice and then, a hand pressed against it.  
Hello.  
This is weird.  
Focus. Think of the memory.  
Right.  
The Doctor raised his own hand to oppose Clara’s and looked hard through the ice. Her face was slightly distorted but it was clearly her and he watched her smile and tap her fingers against his through feet of frozen water. Was this Clara’s consciousness or his memories of her trapped in his own mind? He couldn’t tell, but there she was and he was closer to her now, closer to remembering than he had been during all his attempts to free the past.  
In the parlour of Paternoster the Doctor felt her squeeze his hands again and send images of her in a ridiculous orange spacesuit. He held her against him and spun and she felt weightless in his arms. In the garden he pressed his palm harder against the ice.  
There was no flame this time. He had tried that method too often and failed. The ice would melt and douse the fire and he would be left stranded again. The burning came from anger and panic and injustice at his loss. This was a different technique, one of patience and co-operation. So he pressed both his hands against the wall and they began to sink in, the ice slowly melting, the cold making his bones hurt, but on the other side he could see she was doing the same.  
For long moments they both watched their progress while the joy of their embrace played out again in their memories. The Doctor had formed a clear picture of it now, donated by Clara, and he could feel it prickling in his own mind. Small things she wouldn’t remember about it but that he could, the substance of her, the press of her body against him.  
The progress slowed and he felt Clara’s concern. On his side of the wall the Doctor pushed harder against it but his hands were now so chilled there was no heat left to melt the ice. It was then that he felt Clara move from her place in the parlour. Without breaking skin contact she edged closer, reached up to wrap her fingers around the nape of his neck and splay them in his hair. He could feel her other hand dipping down to his chest, flicking open the buttons of his shirt and then with a swift movement she had straddled him, brought her own chest against his.  
‘Clara!’ he broke his own rule about telepathic communication. Clara’s lips quickly covered his and then in the garden he felt the ice steam under his hand, fizzle and melt as he pressed suddenly against it. The same was happening on the other side of the wall.  
Just speeding up the process, just making up for lost time. He saw her smile broaden through the ice and felt her rock in his lap slightly until his breathing quickened.  
Around them the wall began to crack, a series of small snapping noises giving away the fissures now forming in it. There could be little now between their hands as they reached for one another but what was left was sturdy. The Doctor’s focus was waning, a pain flaring in the centre of his skull distracting him. It had to be the crux of the neural block which meant they were closer now than he had ever been to opening the wall, but as the pain increased his legs could no longer bear his weight. The Doctor stumbled back from the wall slightly, slumped against it and scrabbled to lift himself again to where they had been trying to link hands.  
He could hear Clara then, in the parlour, trying to haul him back to the job in hand.  
‘Doctor, Doctor, please, we’re nearly there, I can see it, just an inch or so more, we’re nearly there! Oh God…’  
And then her hands at his face, the taste of something like blood. The winter garden was fading in and out and he sensed he wouldn’t be able to sustain the telepathic link much longer. Another failed attempt like all those before it. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, maybe he should accept that he would never remember her the way she did him, that the past was truly sacrificed and gone.  
An almighty crack drew his awareness quickly back into the garden and he scrabbled to get away from the wall as shards of ice broke down and spilled over him, spearing the snow on the ground. He glanced up and saw Clara’s figure behind the wall.  
I will not lose you again.  
Crack.  
In the parlour he could feel her rock again on his lap, run her hands this time under his shirt. Her lips were on his, deep and insistent, kissing him like he was air itself, pressing flesh against flesh.  
Her figure in the garden drew back its fist again and ploughed all of its energies into the breaking wall.  
I will not lose the Doctor.  
Crack.  
You think you can keep him from me…  
Crack.  
…but I will never, ever…. Stop.  
The final strike made to the wall had it crashing to the ground sending icy shards left and right, and snow high in the air. He rolled to shield himself and saw as Clara stumbled through the wreckage and landed on her knees close by to where he lay. She was quick to check him over her voice clear in both the garden and the parlour.  
‘Doctor?’  
She kissed him again less urgently. ‘Doctor?’  
‘Clara?’  
In the garden he opened his eyes and looked at her, the snowflakes melting in her hair and her eyes wide with worry.  
‘Did it work?’ he asked.  
‘You tell me,’ he saw her glance back beyond the wall, ‘I mean it’s your head isn’t it, is anything different, do you… oh my god…’ she trailed off.  
The Doctor pushed himself up on his arms and looked in the same direction. ‘Oh my God, what…’ he began, before concluding, ‘Oh.’  
The remains of the wall were melting but it was what lay beyond that that silenced them. On both sides of what had been the dividing line the snow on the ground was melting, it dripped from the trees. On the white expanse of the gardens lawns, green grass now grew and at the borders flowers dared to poke their heads through the soil.  
‘The sun’s shining,’ Clara said.  
‘I know,’ he heard himself say faintly, ‘I’m looking at her.’  
The image faded gradually and when he next blinked he found himself looking directly into Clara’s eyes. She was still perched on his lap, her arms round his shoulders as she toyed with his hair and watched his expression for notes of remembrance. Tentatively he reached up and kissed her softly.  
‘Are you alright?’ he asked.  
‘I think the big question is are you alright?’ she asked impatiently, ‘I know the wall is down but what can you remember?’  
‘Well, let me see,’ he said musingly despite the lingering pain in his head. ‘I’ve remembered sometimes you wear stilts to reach high shelves, and sometimes you paint your face.’  
Clara punched him in the arm.  
‘Important stuff,’ she said, ‘Can you remember important stuff?’  
‘Isn’t that stuff important?’ he asked feigning innocence. He felt her amusement through her body as she prodded him with a free finger.  
‘Memories Doctor, memories,’ she encouraged.  
‘OK, OK,’ he conceded. He felt her shift again against him and a trickle of pleasure ran down his abdomen dispelling all the pain he had felt. He wriggled under her slightly and hummed. Clara’s pupils darkened as she watched him.  
‘I remember,’ he said, ‘The spinning hug in a Viking village and Serenading you with Pretty Woman,’ Clara smiled, ‘And putting myself into stasis for one hundred and fifty years to make sure I came back to you. I remember you coming back from Coal Hill one day and wrapping your arms around me, and I remember feeling so afraid I would lose you but I couldn’t say it. I remember being told you were dead by a Zygon and the bottom falling out of my universe. I remember the Raven…’ he paused to look at her, ‘I remember what came afterwards. All of it.’  
‘Shh,’ Clara leaned down to kiss him again.  
‘I remember,’ he said, ‘Never saying what I needed to say until it was way too late. Until you were gone. Until I was standing in front of your portrait, thousands of years later telling the faded colours and the flaked paint that I loved you. I remember burning myself again and again so that I might one day have the chance…I remember selfishly stealing you from Time.’  
The Doctor stopped for a moment and raised a hand to the centre of Clara’s chest, pressing there for a moment in the vain hope her heart might beat. She took his fingers and kissed his palm.  
‘I would have done anything,’ he said, a leaden feeling in his stomach, ‘I still would. It terrifies me.’  
‘Do you remember the Cloisters?’ she asked.  
‘I do.’  
‘I love you,’ she said, ‘I love you, and now you know I love you. No doubts, no questions, no ‘trying to do the right thing,’ no second guessing each other and no more bad timing. I love you, that’s it.’  
He looked up at her with a sudden rush of need and tried to hide it with a laugh but his eyes must have betrayed him, they felt wet and sore. Her hand passed again through his hair and he nuzzled at her shoulder as she kissed his temple. Slowly she pulled back from him and spent a moment just looking into his eyes.  
‘What now?’ he asked. ‘I’m a bit out of practice with all this…. Relationship stuff. Is this a relationship? Do we get tattoos now?’  
He felt relieved when she giggled.  
‘Yeah, matching tattoos,’ Clara laughed. ‘And yes this is a relationship. It always was it’s just a bit less complicated now.’  
‘It is?’  
‘Let me show you.’  
She leaned down and captured his lips in hers again, this time allowing him to set the pace and again he felt that jab of arousal, his abdominal muscles clenching in pleasure. She weighed little and moved against him completely instinctively, quickly disrobing him entirely of his shirt and freeing them both from confining garments. Before he knew it she had him pinned delightfully against the back of the couch, the heat from the fireplace unusual on his bare skin now that it had been stripped of its usual defences.   
The Doctor had the sense that they could end up in variations of their position for several hours but that right now Clara had some need to claim him finally after all their time apart. A possessive want ran through her and as such lingered in the outer parts of his mind. He opened it to let them trickle in and she seized upon him, deepening her kiss as her intentions played out in images in his head. It was not long before she reached down between them, tracing a firm course down over his stomach to his groin. She scratched at his skin lightly with her nails and moaned into their kiss.  
As Clara lowered herself over him, the Doctor was forced to break their kiss for air, gasping at the pleasure she gave him and the sudden feeling of being joined at last to the woman he loved. Clara rode him experimentally for a moment before finding an angle which pleased her and he let his head fall back against the couch briefly, overwhelmed by the feelings she generated in him. He had to fight to regain control as his hips bucked under her, the intensity of feeling increased by the patterns his hands now drew on her soft skin, shoulders, and breasts.  
This then was what they had denied themselves before and from which a safer future would be born. He felt all of a sudden certain that if they could be this vulnerable with each other they could avoid many of the pitfalls which had trapped them before. The Doctor allowed Clara to surround and devour him and returned her passion, letting himself unravel as her thrusts increased their pace and he felt unable to contain the low moans of arousal his body generated. This was Clara, and Clara loved him. He was free.  
He felt her hurry her pace further and heard his own breathing become erratic, slipped his fingers between them, rubbing gently and drawing a sweet mewling sound from her. The sound increased and he was suddenly unable to hold back, feeling her around him, her muscles grasping as her orgasm hit and she drove herself down hard onto him. The Doctor took a harsh breath before seizing against her, barely able to choke out a sound of pleasure as his release hit him.  
Clara leant carefully against him, her fingers lightly trailing over his chest. The Doctor kept his eyes on the fire but allowed his lips to wander now and then to plant soft kisses in her hair. He felt exhausted, skin tingling and a soft smile on his lips that wouldn’t leave him.  
‘You’re a million miles away,’ Clara observed.  
‘Yes, though luckily for us, not literally for once.’  
‘What are you thinking of?’  
‘Not thinking, remembering,’ he corrected.  
‘Remembering then, what are you remembering?’  
‘Oh just the important stuff. What you looked like on the Orient Express, the way you laughed with obscene amounts of excitement when we met Robin Hood, your birthday…’  
‘Which is..?’ she checked.  
‘Which is November 23rd,’ the Doctor replied solemnly.  
‘You’re right these things are all very important,’ Clara confirmed.   
‘I’m surprised by just how much of it there is, favourite colour, favourite foods, all this useless information about one Miss Clara Oswald, I’m amazed I ever got anything done before the memory wipe.’  
‘Oi!’  
The Doctor prevented her from further prodding of his stomach by closing her in a tight embrace. Cuddled on the couch before the lingering fire. Clara fell contentedly silent and watched the flames while he, both drained and satisfied, closed his eyes and drifted. The landscape of his psyche was different now and as he retreated into the garden of his mind, he saw that every flower now bloomed, each one a memory.

 

 


End file.
